


A Girl and A Boy

by sarcastrow



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-02-11 23:15:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12946131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcastrow/pseuds/sarcastrow
Summary: Gendry arrives at Winterfell, Arya is happy to see him.





	1. Chapter 1

A Girl and a Boy

 

“I’ve met your sister.”

Jon trudged through the snow and looked to his left at the stocky young man. “Sansa?”

Gendry shook his head. “No, the other one. Ary.”

“Arya?” Jon said with a look of surprise. “When?”

“We left Kings Landing with a company headed to the wall,” Gendry told him as they walked. “She was posing as a boy then. The Lannisters raided the party and killed our guides. They were looking for me it turned out, but they killed one of our friends, and Arya told them he was me. They took us to Harrenhal, and made us slaves. She became friends with a man named Jaqen H’ghar I think, and he arranged for us to escape, three of us.”

Jon smiled. “I can see her doing that,” he said. “Smartest of the lot of us, she is.”

“Far sight smarter than I am,” Gendry said. “We got taken in by the Brotherhood Without Banners, and they sold me to the Red Witch. Arya knew the bitch wanted me for something evil. Turned out she wanted my blood for magic.”

“She’s at Winterfell,” Jon said.

“The witch?” Gendry asked in disgust.

Jon looked at Gendry with a smirk. “No, Arya.”

Gendry stopped dead. “Alive, she’s alive?” He said, joy unexpectedly rushing through him. He sniggered and shook his head. “’Course she’s alive.” He looked at the stoic man next to him, and Jon gave him his ‘do go on’ look.

“She was our leader,” Gendry continued. “I was oldest, biggest, but she has… will, will to live, will to win, will to avenge. She just… grabbed the reins, and me and Hot Pie were along for the ride.”

“Hot Pie?” John asked.

“The only name he had,” Gendry said. “He cooks. Really well, and that’s what everyone called him. Don’t know if he has another name.”

“How was she?”

“I imagine you know her pretty well,” Gendry said with a grin. “She was angry, really angry at King Joffrey, Cersei, anybody involved in getting your father’s head cut off. She was clever, resourceful, she kept us alive.”

Jon saw the wistful smile. “Yeah, hard not to love her,” He observed.

“What?” Gendry said, taken aback. “I never said I was in love with her. She’s just… she’s a good friend.”

Jon nodded to himself. “Whatever you say.”

(*)

_My beloved sisters_

_Our mission has been successful. Queen Cersei has conceded to send her armies north to wage the Great War with us, Queen Daenerys comes with her armies and dragons, and I return with hope._

_Arya, I am also bringing a friend of yours back to Winterfell. One Gendry Baratheon._

_JS_

 

Arya let the raven scroll roll itself back into a cylinder. Gendry. Her mind wandered back to Harrenhal. Gendry sweating and swinging the hammer was indelibly etched in her mind. It was the very first time she had felt “the stirrings”. That was what her cruel mentor among the faceless of Braavos had called it. 

“You will feel the stirrings of desire sometimes for the name chosen for you,” she had said. “And perhaps, from time to time, you may allow yourself the pleasure of satiating those desires, but only to serve the Red God’s purpose.”

Arya hadn’t felt them in Braavos, she hadn’t felt them at the Twins, but she was feeling them now just thinking about that day in the smithy. She shook her head. He was older, not by much, but still he wouldn’t have these thoughts about her. He thought of her as a child, a little sister. He would never think of her in that way.

Would he. Would he?

(*)

They crested the ridge and Winterfell rose from the snow to stand in stately grace a few miles away. The damages wrought by war were still evident but much had been repaired. The snow for its part did a great deal of smoothing of the edges, and adding a polished look to the landscape. Gendry had to admit, it was beautiful.

“Always loved the place in the snow,” Jon said from his horse.

“At least it keeps the shit smell down,” The Hound said from behind them. “Standing here looking at it doesn’t make me any warmer, let’s go before we fucking freeze.”

“I could stand some mulled wine and a fire,” Ser Davos said.

Gendry didn’t comment. He was consumed by a singular thought. _She’s there._

(*)

The horns sounded as the King approached. “The King in the north returns!” the heralds shouted, and people started to gather in the courtyard of Winterfell. Lady Sansa emerged from her chambers smiling in a way she hadn’t in a month. As much as she liked the pomp, ruling was an unpleasant business, and she was happy to hand it back to Jon. In her childish imagination, all those years ago, she had thought siting on a throne meant planning parties and receiving guests. Now she knew better. To rule was to be the one who decides, who gets what, who was right, who was wrong, who lives, who dies.

She had been forced to render decisions on all of these things while Jon was away, and she had found it distasteful. She had no desire to return to needle point and knitting, she much preferred being on the small council, but sitting in the big chair was not to her liking.

She found her sister already in the courtyard, waiting. Sansa smiled at Arya. She and Jon had always been the closest of the siblings, and Sansa could see Arya quivering with anticipation.

“I’m sure he’s just as excited to see you,” she told her younger sister.

“I don’t know,” Arya said. “It’s been a long time.”

Sansa sniggered. How could Arya even think Jon would forget her. “You’ve been his favorite forever.”

“How would you know,” Arya said, puzzled. “You’ve never met him.”

Sansa looked down at Arya. “What? Who are you talking about?”

Arya looked back up at her. “Who are you talking about?”

“THE KING IN THE NORTH!” the shouts began as the procession neared the gates, drowning their conversation. It repeated over and over until Jon and his company were dismounting in the courtyard. He mounted a cart in the procession and flipped back the covering revealing a glittering mound of black shards.

“We have dragon glass!” he shouted, and the crowd cheered. “We have a truce with the queen in King’s Landing.” They cheered again. “And we have an alliance with Queen Daenerys and her dragons.” The roar of the crowd was deafening. “Our fight is not assured, but at least now we have a chance, a hope. Fire the forges come morning, and we’ll begin our great work.” The crowd cheered again as Jon descended from the cart to walk among his people.

They had been angry and concerned while he had been away. Sansa had written him, voicing her own concerns, but he had stayed his course. He would have had to have been a fool not to know that leaving the north would cause turmoil, and he was not a fool, but he had listened to wise council, and that council had led him to a wise decision. Now all was forgiven. He was back, alive and whole, and he had succeeded. For that they loved him.

All the while Arya and Gendry had been staring at each other, first with expressions of unease and concern, then a slight smile of hope, and at last joy. It was all they could do to stay where they were as Jon walked amid the people of Winterfell and approached his sisters. Sansa saw it all.

Arya’s joy at seeing Gendry alive and happy to see her was momentarily swept aside in the overwhelming rush of love she felt for her brother. She jumped into his arms and he hugged her fiercely. “Thank the gods,” he said in an emotion roughed voice. “Thank the gods.”

(*)

“How many?” Sansa asked in hushed wonder.

The remaining Starks were gathered in Sansa’s outer room by the fire. Jon sat in one chair facing the fire, Sansa in the other, and Arya stood by Bran in his rolling chair. Sansa, Bran, and Arya had talked about their adventures before, but Arya had glossed over or changed the subject when the conversation turned to her list, Braavos, and what had come after. She had a feeling Bran knew everything, and she had given Sansa a demonstration that had shocked her, but now she felt free to share with her siblings the true extent of her revenge.

“I don’t know,” Arya replied honestly. “It was nine, no wait, ten before The Twins.” She unconsciously smiled at the memory. “Like I told you, I was angry I didn’t get to kill Joffrey, But I did get to kill Meryn Trant, some Lannister soldiers that killed my friends, and the Freys.”

“The Freys?” Jon said, puzzeled.

“That was you?” Sansa said in wonder, staring drop jawed at her sister.

Bran’s eyes were closed as he silently counted. “Sixty four,” he said. “Tallying all of them including Littlefinger.”

Jon and Sansa stared at Arya in stunned silence, finally Sansa spoke. “The story that came north was that the whole of the Frey men died of bad food at a feast two months ago,” she said. “They executed the cook.”

“Wasn’t Macklyr,” Arya said. “No great loss though. He was an ass, and not nearly as good a cook as Hot Pie.”

“How?” Jon asked, still stunned.

“Poison,” was Arya’s one word reply.

Sansa rose quickly and hugged her sister, tears in her eyes. “Thank you,” she said and hugged Arya harder. “Thank you. As much as you wanted to kill Joffrey, I wanted to kill Walder Frey and his whole wretched house. It won’t bring Rob, mother, everyone back, but you put paid to that account.”

Arya accepted Sansa’s embrace and returned it in kind. “I wish I’d have got back to the north earlier,” she said. “After what you told me about the Boltons, especially Ramsey, I’d have gladly killed them for you too.”

“But how, Arya?” Jon asked.

Sansa looked at her younger sister. She hadn’t fully appreciated Arya’s talent, her gift, until she had demonstrated it. “Show him,” was all she said.

Arya nodded once and left the room.

“Where’s she going?” Jon asked.

“You’ll see,” Sansa said with a smirk. She poured some wine for both of them and sipped. “It won’t take long.” She looked back at her brother with a haunted expression. “But be prepared. What Arya can do now, what she learned, is…amazing. She didn’t tell me everything, but there’s a skill, and I think some magic involved.”  Just then there was a knock at the door, and Sansa opened it. Petyr Baelish stood just outside the chamber.

“Baelish!” Jon said in disgust, and he turned to Sansa. “You said he was dead?”

“Forgive me, Your Grace,” Littlefinger said as he entered the room. “But the reports of my demise are… quite accurate.”

“What?” Jon said looking back at him.

“Remarkable,” Baelish continued in his haughty, slightly hoarse voice. “Isn’t it. A disguise so beguiling that even when you know it can’t be, it still seems real.”

“What do you know of the Faceless of Braavos?” Sansa asked her brother.

“Not much,” Jon replied. “They are hired assassins, I think. I haven’t been to Braavos.” He was still staring at Littlefinger. “Disguise?”

“Yes,” Baelish said, and Arya removed his face. She seemed to shrink before them, losing a foot in height. Jon shook his head in near disbelief. “I trained for most of a year with the Faceless Men,” Arya told him, her voice her own again. “I never intended to stay with them though. I wanted to learn their secrets so that I could avenge my family. When they found out they tried to kill me, but I killed the one they sent, so The Red God was satisfied.”

Jon gawked at her in Baelish’s oversized robes. “And this is how you took the Freys?”

“I killed Black Walder and Lothar Frey first,” Arya said with a slight smile, remembering. “Then I baked them in a pie and fed them to old Walder before I killed him.”

Sansa was taken aback by her sister’s fond reminiscence of the bloodlust and carnage she had engaged in. Sansa had learned over the last two months that Arya was a formidable presence, but just how dangerous and lethal she had become was only now starting to become evident to Sansa.

“I had a stock of The Choke I stole from the store house of the Faceless,” Arya continued. “I used Walder’s face and called a feast. Poisoned the wine, but I left the women alive. Old Walder’s wife was pregnant, and the serving girls were innocent.”

“She was going to Cersei next,” Bran said stoically from his chair. “But her friend told her of you, and she came here instead.”

“Can you do that with anyone?” Jon asked.

Arya smiled without mirth. “Only if they’re dead,” she said. “And I have their face.”

(*)

“The Lady Arya requests your presence,” Brienne said.

Gendry looked up from the forge bench. He’d been laying out his tools and organizing them for the next day’s work. Tomorrow they would begin forging the weapons they hoped would save them. The mundane task also took his mind off the ever-present thought of the dark haired girl somewhere in the castle. Her brother had drug her off for a reunion, depriving Gendry of the reunion he desired, so he had set about organizing the forge.

He looked into the inscrutable face of the tall woman. He could divine no anger or mirth or any hint of what she might be thinking. He had no clue as to what might happen next, but he’d wanted to see Arya since he’d learned she was still alive, and If the stars were right maybe hug her and feel the reality of her living body against his. At that thought his own body stirred.

“Let me wash up a bit,” he said, and he went to the bucket in the corner. After scrubbing his face and hands of the soot he finger combed his hair and turned back to Brienne. “Am I at least not filthy?”

The first smile he had ever seen on the woman Knight’s face appeared. “I’m fairly sure she doesn’t care.” She turned and walked out of the forge motioning Gendry to follow.

“Where are we going?” He asked as they entered the castle proper.

“Lady Arya has arranged a supper,” Brienne said. “You’ll be dining with her in her chambers.”

A thousand possibilities raced through Gendry’s mind. “Her chambers?”

Brienne looked at him and nodded. “The same rooms she has always occupied here,” she said as they turned and ascended a stairway. “Lady Arya reclaimed them upon her return to Winterfell.”

He smiled. He would see her childhood room. Perhaps it had changed, perhaps not, but being in that safe place in her memory would put her at ease. He would finally see her unafraid. “She’s grown, changed,” Gendry said. “How much?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Brienne told him. “I’ve only begun to know her here. My impression of the Lady Arya is one of admiration. She has survived many trials that would have killed a lesser person, and she did it mostly by herself. She is the most accomplished swordswoman of her age, and she has… a certain drive that I can relate to.” Brienne chuckled to herself.

The stairs ended at a portal into a long hallway, glassed over arrow loops lined one side and doors the other. “These are some of the guest rooms,” Brienne said as they walked. “I believe you will be given one in this row as it’s close to the forge.”

“A room,” Gendry said softly.

Brienne looked at him for a moment. “Have you never had a room of your own?”

Gendry shook his head. “No,” he said. “Slept on the floor of the smithy in Kings Landing, slave barracks at Harrenhal, might call what the witch kept me in a room, but it was a prison cell really.”

Brienne sniggered to herself. “The Lady Arya has taken an interest in your welfare,” she said. “I would imagine you circumstances will improve dramatically.”

They turned down another hall, and then through another portal to a set of stairs. Ascending one level of the castle, Gendry found himself in a corridor lined with tapestries and the occasional display of armor. “These are the family residences,” Brienne said. She went to one of the doors and knocked. “My Lady?”

“I’m not a lady,” a loud but amused voice said from beyond the door.

Both Gendry and Brienne smiled, and she opened the door. “Gendry Baratheon, My Lady,” she said, and she closed the door behind Gendry as he entered.

(*)

There he was. Scruffy beard, broader shoulders _oh my_ , sooty clothes, brooding eyes, and a warm smile just for her. Arya, with a complete lack of proper ladylike behavior, ran to him and jumped into his arms. “You’re alive,” She whispered, crushing him to her.

(*)

If he wasn’t as strong as he had become it would have been tough to breath. She was hugging him so hard, arms and legs wrapped around him. ”’M happy to see you too,” he said. She smelled of leather and steel with just a hint of flowers, but below all of it she smelled of woman. He would happily stand here in her embrace for as long as she wanted, but he pulled away when she began to shake slightly. She was crying.

Looking down into her face he was struck. Gods, she was beautiful. He set her feet back down on the floor, cupped that face, and used his thumbs to wipe away her tears. They were tears of joy he could tell, because she was smiling radiantly. Was this the moment? Was it too soon? Was… She ended his vacillation by grabbing the back of his head and bringing him down for a firm kiss.

(*)

_Silly boy_ she thought. _You’re just too proper._ Once her lips connected with his, or collided depending on the point of view, all his reserve vanished, and he returned the snog with equal enthusiasm. After a few moments she drew back, breathing heavily. “I’ve wanted to do that for years,” she said, and she hugged him again, resting her head against his chest. “Thought I’d never have the chance.”

“Me either,” he said, trying to shift his body so she wouldn’t feel just how happy he was to see her, hold her. “But maybe you should back up a bit so I don’t get my stink all over you.”

She laughed. “Your stink I can handle,” she said. “But I’m hungry, and I imagine you’re starving.” Releasing him from the embrace, she turned and sat at the small table in the room, indicating he should sit in the chair opposite her.

“My L…”

“Call me ‘My Lady’ and I’ll run you through,” Arya said dangerously.

“Uh... love?” he continued with a laugh. “Thank you.” He sat, and she drew the cover from the platter on the table. Two whole chickens, some roasted vegetables, a few pieces of fruit, and a small loaf of bread lay waiting for them.

Arya grabbed a leg from one of the chickens, tore a hunk from the loaf and set them on the small plate on her side of the table. “Eat,” she said, and began herself.

He didn’t need to be told twice.

(*)

They, _well mostly me_ he thought, had eaten both chickens and nearly the rest of the platter. It was the first time in years he had been comfortably full. Now they sat on the floor in front of the fire. In truth, he sat on the floor. She was in his lap, arms wrapped around him, her head on his chest.

“Lady Brienne said they have a room for me downstairs,” he said.

“If you want it,” she said and looked into his eyes. “Or you could stay here.” At his surprised look she smiled beguilingly, a shameless look that was a bit incongruous on her face, but one that set his blood on fire.

“Uh, your brother…”

“Will keep his opinions to himself,” she said. “If he knows what’s good for his health.”

He chuckled. “I think I might love you, Arya Stark,” he said with a smile in his voice.

“I know I love you, Gendry Baratheon,” she said much more seriously.

Many minutes later he found himself on his back with Arya astride him, still snogging him with vigor. He could feel a heat on his thigh, right where they met, and she could not help but feel his ardor. It was going very fast he thought, and he separated from her lips for a moment. “Arya,” he began.

“Bath,” she said, breathlessly.

“What?” he asked.

“Bath,” she said, looking slightly dazed. She stood and pulled him to his feet. “Come on.”

(*)

They had descended a long, winding stair to a door that let into a multisided room with several doors. Those doors opened into other rooms below ground level. They entered one and he saw a steaming tub more than ten feet wide and fifteen long was set into the floor.

“I had it prepared earlier,” she said. Reaching up she unclasped his cloak and pulled it from him. Then she pushed him back until his calves hit the bench behind him. He sat reflexively, and she pulled off his boots. His jacket, shirt, and what passed for stockings joined the growing pile on the bench next to him. When she pulled him to his feet and started on the drawstring of his trousers he stopped her. 

“Arya,” he began. “I want you, b..”

“Good,” she said. “I want you too.” She looked at him sternly. “Gendry, don’t be so noble. We could die any time, especially me, so let’s get on with life, shall we?”

He smiled and shook his head. He could, would never win and argument with her, he was coming to realize, and that was fine with him he also realized. “Well then,” he said. “Your turn.”

He unclasped her cloak and let it fall to the stone floor. Sitting her on the bench, he removed her much more well-made boots. Stockings, a leather and armor jacket, and her over shirt followed. Then, with the air of one who is opening the greatest gift of a lifetime, he undid her blouse.

_Gods!_ He thought as he beheld the woman she had become. _You are so…_ his mind ground to a halt. Three small scars shown pinkish on her stomach. He reached out and gently traced them. “What happened?” he asked.

A small, knowing smile graced her. “Lessons,” she said simply.

Gendry was done. He quickly divested her of the rest of her clothing, dropped his own trousers, and carried her into the tub.

(*)

Arya lay in her bed looking at the canopy while Gendry slept next to her. They had scrubbed the dirt and grime and cares from one and other in the bath. Upon their return to her rooms she had held a sword more satisfying than any other, and Gendry had wielded that sword with care and gentleness, twice. What would come after the Great War she didn’t know, but now she had a reason to live through it. _Your sons will be princes and lords_ her father’s voice said in her head. She looked at the prince in her bed. “They just might be,” she whispered into the night.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. And a Hound

And A Hound

 

Sansa watched her sister as Arya made her way down the steps to the courtyard. There was a spring to her walk, and the slight smile she wore, _constantly for the last week_ Sansa thought to herself, bespoke of an inner happiness that she was only slightly jealous of. Arya had made not a single attempt to hide her liaison with the young Baratheon, they sat close together at meals, she was with him practically any time he wasn’t in the smithy, and the staff reported that his room had not been used.

It was good, Sansa had decided, that Gendry was so far from her type. She liked him, and she found him polite and a gentleman to her sister, but he was much too broody. Almost as broody as her perpetually frowning brother. He was fit, and Sansa didn’t miss the unmistakable gazes her sister laid upon her paramour. Any woman would recognized that hungry look, and she understood why, but Sansa preferred men with culture and style. Gendry had never been exposed to those kinds of influences, and so he remained ignorant of them. 

Sansa wasn’t angry, far from it, she was quite happy that Arya had found Gendry again. But propriety, and Jon, had demanded she speak to her sister. Sansa was just trying to figure out how and when. Midmorning was training time for Arya and the feisty Lady Mormont, consequently Lady Brienne and Lady Lyanna were waiting in the courtyard as Arya descended the steps.

“Good morning, My Lady,” Brienne said with a smile.

Arya smiled back. “I’m not a Lady.”

“Neither am I,” Lyanna Mormont said with her ever-present fierceness.

Arya smiled at her new friend and partner. So much like her five years prior. “Well, since there are no ladies here,” she said. “Let’s fucking get on with it.”

The three laughed and Brienne began her training routine. First she instructed Arya and Lyanna to do the stretching and limbering movements she had taught them. Then she passed them the wooden training swords and ran them through parries and reposts. After they had warmed their muscles and limbered their minds, Brienne coached Lyanna as she spared with Arya. Sansa had grown to love watching her sister dance.

She wasn’t alone. After the first few days an audience had begun to form on the walls and balconies of the courtyard to watch the three female fighters train. They were there now, many of them in the same place they took every day. As the tempo of the fight increased they leaned forward and watched intently.

Arya would purposefully slow herself during the first few bouts with Lyanna, allowing the younger girl to score a few hits. Then she would gradually increase her skills and speed, challenging Lyanna to keep up, and that was when the dance began. 

“Watch what I intend, not what you think I’m doing,” Arya said loudly after ten minutes had passed. She stutter stepped forward and swung at Lyanna. The girl blocked the sword and swept it aside. 

“Very good,” Brienne praised. “Always follow with an attack if you’re able.”

Arya backed away and attacked again with a forward thrust. Lyanna moved forward to parry the thrust, and Arya twirled to her left and brought her sword around to take the younger girls legs, but they weren’t there. Just as she had trained on Bear Island to hop over sail spars slamming together on a deck, so she had jumped straight up and let Arya’s sword sweep under her. 

“Excellent,” Brienne called.

Arya dropped and rolled to her side as Lyanna’s sword swung past her ear. “Almost,” she said with a smile, and she hopped back to her feet.

Lyanna pressed the attack as Brienne had taught her. _Never relent, never give your opponent time, and once you have the advantage never give it back,_ Brienne’s voice said in her head. Lyanna jumped forward and thrusted. Arya partied and twirled once more to bring her sword down on Lyanna’s head. And again, she wasn’t there. Taking a page from her older counterpart, Lyanna had dropped and rolled away from Arya only to spring back to her feet and continue to press the attack.

“Yes!” Arya sang out as she parried another thrust. “Don’t stop, keep at me!” Thrust and sweep, sweep and thrust, Lyanna brought the fight to her, inexorably, driving Arya back toward the courtyard wall. Sensing the wall behind her, Arya noticed a barrel against it on her right. She jumped backward and then up onto the barrel as Lyanna pressed forward. Jumping off the barrel she essentially tackled the younger girl. 

With surprising strength, Lyanna shoved Arya off her with her legs. As she was flying backwards Arya laughed. Her laughter turned to startled admiration when, after landing and regaining her feet, a clod of snow hit her in the face followed by the point of the wooden sword impacting her chest.

A smattering of applause and cheers sounded in the courtyard as a group of men on the battlements from Bear Island took pride in their Lady.

“Where did you learn that?” Brienne asked Lyanna, who wore a rare smile.

The lady of Bear Island tilted her head toward a figure on the ramparts. Brienne turned and looked where Lyanna was indicating. Sandor Clegane stood leaning against a parapet wall casually eating some dried fruit. Brienne smiled and exchanged a look of admiration with him.

“Never fight fair when you fight for your life,” Lyanna quoted. “That’s what he told Me.” she showed them her stern face again. “I think he’s right.”

Arya nodded as Brienne looked from her student back at the man on the castle walls. “He is,” Arya said, and then she nodded to herself. There was something she had been avoiding that she now knew she had to do.

(*)

“Well, Wolf Girl,” Sandor Clegane said to the young woman that stopped a few feet from him. “Took you long enough to come find me.”

He was smiling, an unusual thing for The Hound to do in her experience, but that usually meant he was genuinely happy. She closed the distance between them and hugged him firmly. “Thank you,” she said and hugged him harder. “I’m so happy you’re alive.”

“Off your list, am I?” he said with a smile in his voice, and he hugged her back just as hard.

She nodded against his chest. “Have been for a long time.” She looked up at him with sad eyes. “I’m sorry I left you. That was cruel, and I shouldn’t have done it.” There, she had given the apology that had haunted her for a few years.

“Don’t trouble yourself, Wolf Girl,” he said. “Worked out for the best. I wouldn’t have met your brother otherwise.”

“You protected me, saved me over and over, taught me,” Arya said, shame still coloring her voice. “And I repaid you by leaving you to die.”

He took hold of her shoulders and made her look up at him. “But I didn’t die, Arya,” he said. She couldn’t remember him ever using her actual name before. “I was saved by some friends.” His face became hard. “And then I learned some about you, Wolf Girl, about revenge.” He drew her into a much tenderer hug. “You’re forgiven.”

(*)

“There you are,” Sandor Clegane said as he entered the smithy. “Young Lord Baratheon.”

Gendry looked sideways at his companion beyond the wall. “’M not a lord,” he said.

“Actually you’re a prince,” Clegane said and laughed. “But your title’s not why I’m here.”

Gendry looked up from the bench where he was melding shards of dragon glass to steel arrow tips. “Need your armor mended?” he asked.

“No, nothing like that,” The Hound replied with a smirk. “Come to talk about the Lady Wolf Girl.”

Gendry became wary. “What business is it of yours?” he asked.

“I’m one of her protectors, so they sent me,” Clegane said. “Don’t worry, I’m not here to cut your balls off.” He looked Gendry in the eyes. “Unless you hurt her.”

A chill went down Gendry’s spine. That Clegane would cut his balls off if he hurt Arya was in no doubt. Late in the evening, after dinner, bathing, other things, they would lay in her bed and talk. She had told him as much as he wanted to know about her travels after the Brotherhood. Clegane had turned from kidnapper to protector in just a few days. He’d taught her, shielded her, and he had nurtured Arya’s hunger for revenge. When they had met Brienne and Payne, and he had been wounded, she had left him to die. Only yesterday had she found him to apologize, and Gendry could tell, as she relayed the story with her head laid on his bare chest, that a great weight had been lifted from her with the Mia Culpa.

“I have a feeling you’d be third or fourth in line,” Gendry said with a smirk. “She’d be first, Brienne, the King, then maybe you.”

Sandor chuckled. “Don’t let it come to that, lad,” he said. “She may not act like a princess, but she is, and that makes her very important in the big game.”

Gendry looked at him puzzled. “She’s not a princess,” he said.

Clegane snorted. “Her brother’s a king,” he said. “Makes her a princess. I knew you father well, you look just like him by the way. He was king, and that makes you a prince.”

“I don’t want to be a prince,” Gendry said sullenly.

“I’m betting she doesn’t want to be a princess either,” Clegane said chuckling. “Tough shite for the both of you.” Sandor looked the young man in the eyes. “You’re the last of King Robert’s line, the last Baratheon. You should be heir to all his lands and titles.” He turned to leave. “And you even have a claim to the Iron Throne.”

Gendry’s blood ran cold. “No!” he said forcefully and shook his head. “No, I don’t want that.”

Sandor turned back to him. “Good.”

(*)

“My… Arya,” Brienne said as they walked from the courtyard. “Can we talk for a moment?”

Arya looked to her side. “Of course,” she said.

Brienne led her to an unused horse stall they were passing. She leaned on the rail and composed her thoughts. “I’m not the best one to speak on this subject…”

“But?” Arya prompted.

“But they chose me,” Brienne said with a grin. She cleared her throat and turned to Arya. “It has not escaped your brother and sister’s notice that you and Gendry Baratheon are… very close these days.”

Arya smiled. “Sansa jealous?”

Brienne shook her head. “Not at all,” she said. “In point of fact, she’s very happy for you. The King and Lady Sansa are just concerned for your welfare.” Brienne sniggered. “And they want to make sure you adhere to some standards of decorum.”

“What?” Arya said, annoyed. “Do they think they’ll find us fucking in a hallway?”

Brienne contemplated. “Yes,” she said with a grin. “Among other places.”

Brienne saw the fire in her young friend’s eyes. “He’s the best thing to ever happen to me, Brienne,” Arya said with heat. “I won’t give him up!”

“They don’t want you to,” Brienne said firmly. “And they are comfortable with how you and Lord Baratheon are conducting yourselves, but they are somewhat concerned that you might push the bounds of propriety beyond what the northern lords would accept without compliant.”

“Are they afraid I’ll corrupt Lyanna?” Arya asked, spite coloring her voice.

“I think it’s far too late for that,” Brienne said with a smile. “Lady Mormont idolizes you.” Brienne put her hand on Arya’s shoulder. “Arya, your brother and sister love you, and they want to make sure you are happy. That’s all. They sent me because they were afraid of your reaction.” She chuckled. “Rightfully so it seems. You do know the whole of Winterfell is abuzz with gossip about you and your prince.”

“I was ignoring it,” Arya said in a huff.

“Continue to do so,” Brienne told her. “It will die off as you become less interesting.”

Arya looked up at her. “That’s unlikely,” she said.

(*)

“Who’s coming this time?” Gendry asked from Arya’s side.

“The Lannisters,” Arya said. “Sansa told me her ‘husband’ is among them.”

“The Imp?” Gendry asked.

“Yes,” Arya replied. “And don’t call him that. He hates it.”

Gendry nodded. “I know,” he said. “I’ve met him.”

“Sansa tells me he’s actually the most gentlemanly Lord she’s met,” Arya said, looking at his hand clasped in hers. 

Gendry smiled down at her. “Should I be offended?”

Arya’s smile was wicked as she looked at him and said, “I like my lord less gentlemanly.”

Jamie Lannister was first through the gates, followed by his brother, and then a small host of gold cloaked knights. The King in the North strode to Jamie’s horse to greet him as he dismounted. “Welcome to Winterfell, my Lord,” he said and shook Jamie’s true hand with his left. “We have gathered wood for your fires. You’ll find it stacked in the fields to the south. Tell your banner men to help themselves to what they need.” He sniggered. “We northerners are used to the cold, but I’m thinking yours are complaining by now.”

Jamie smiled. “They are,” he said. “How is the forging going?”

Jon clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s going well,” he said. “Come on. I’ll show you.” He led Jamie to Gendry and Arya. “Jamie Lanister, this is my sister Arya and her… friend, Gendry Baratheon.”

Jamie looked surprised, “Baratheon?”

“Yes, my lord,” Gendry replied. “’M King Robert’s bastard.”

Jamie laughed. “One of many,” he said, and he put his hand on Gendry’s shoulder. “Only one to survive my sister though. Glad you did.”

Arya appraised the man before her. He certainly was the handsome man she had been told he was, but Gendry was even more so, at least to her. Then, as she looked around the courtyard, she noticed the way Brienne looked at the latest arrival. _OH!_ she thought. _So this is the one that captured the heart of Brienne of Tarth._  She smiled to herself and looked back to her own love.

“Gendry’s our best smith, so he’s leading the forging of the weapons,” Jon told Jamie. “Come to the smithy, and we’ll show you what we’ve done.”

As Jon, Jamie, Gendry, and Arya left the courtyard Tyrion Lannister approached Lady Sansa. “My Lady, it’s good to find you well,” Tyrion said as he kissed her hand.

Sansa smiled, she really was genuinely happy to see him. “My lord,” she said as she curtsied. “It’s good to be found well, and I am also pleased to see you again.” He was dressed as a Hand, down to the broach on his shoulder. “You are Hand of the Queen?”

“Of Queen Daenerys, yes,” Tyrion said.

Sansa smiled broadly. “Come, my lord,” she said. “I think there’s wine to be had in my chambers, and you can tell me of your adventures after the Purple Wedding.” She looked far away, over the castle walls. “I understand that’s what they call it now.”

“Yes, they do,” Tyrion said. “Wine?”

Sansa took his hand. “Yes,” she said with a smile as she led him away.

(*)

“My Lord?” Podrick Payne asked.

“’M not a lord,” Gendry muttered as he sorted shards of dragon glass on the bench of the smithy.

Podrick shrugged. “What would you prefer?”

“My Name’s Gendry,” he said.

Podrick nodded. “Podrick Payne,” he said and held out his hand. “Most people call me Pod.”

“Good to meet you,” Gendry said. “Your Brienne’s squire, yeah?”

“Yes,” Pod said. “And before that I served Lord Tyrion.”

“I like him,” Gendry said.

“Me too,” Pod said. “And he likes you, which is why I’m here.” Pod sat on a stool next to the bench. “Lord Tyrion and Lady Sansa have spent a lot of time in conversation since his arrival yesterday.”

“What’s that got to do with me?” Gendry asked.

“They spoke of your… companionship with Lady Arya.”

Gendry turned slowly, dangerously to Podrick. “And?” he said low and rough.

Pod smiled. “Lord Tyrion has a special gift for you,” he said.

Gendry looked at him silently.

Pod chuckled. “The gift is me,” he said. “Or more correctly, my advice.”

(*)

_Gods!_ Arya thought. _What in the seven hells was that?_ She struggled to catch her breath, and the room refused to focus. It had been good, very good, with Gendry. She had been prepared for pain, and there had been a little the first time, Gendry was a large man after all, but once it had faded that first time it had been wonderful. Tonight though, tonight was indescribable, and they hadn’t even done… that yet. “Wha... How?” she managed between breaths.

Gendry chuckled, and he wiped the sweat and other moisture from his face on a blanket as he crawled up her body and gathered her in his arms. “Pod told me a few things about women,” he said.

“Brienne never said anything about him knowing… all that,” she panted.

“Don’t think she knows,” Gendry said. “I asked Pod the same thing, and he said she’s… untouched.”

Arya had recovered enough to laugh a little. “Jamie Lannister could touch her if he wanted.”

“Yeah,” Gendry agreed. “Pod said that too.”

Arya looked at him, the fire burning hotter than ever. “Gendry,” she said, and she rolled him onto his back to straddle him. “Touch me.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. And Her Sister

And Her Sister

 

Arya was thankful for the beeswax and fluff ear stoppers Gendry had pressed on her when she followed him into the smithy. “Master Mott made us wear ‘em,” he’d told her. “Most smiths are deaf by their thirties, but he could still hear just fine at nearly sixty. Said it was because he plugged his ears every day in the smithy.” Her own ears would have been ringing like the steel Gendry was shaping if she hadn’t accepted his offer.

Last night she had sat on the bench, casually swing her legs back and forth, while Gendry drew the pig into a long slender blade. Teryl, one of Gendry’s assistant smiths, had shaped the pommel from several melted down Dornish brass coins, and Arya grinned as she had rolled it in her hand, examining the finely shaped figure. It was perfect. The cross guard for the hilt was formed from a pure silver bar, and Teryl had outdone himself engraving it. 

The moon illuminated the courtyard beyond as it was later in the evening than normal for the smithy to be occupied, but this was a special project Arya had asked of Gendry. He had been happy to forge the sword once Arya had told him why she wanted it. He was done with the blade and its inset bits of dragon glass near the point. All that was left to do was finish shaping the grip for the small hand that would hold it, attach the cross guard, wrap the grip with leather, and let time etch the words on the blade.

Sansa had been down earlier to paint the etching sand on both sides of the narrow blade in her fine script. Tomorrow, after a final hardening, it would say “The North Remembers,” in High Valyrian.

(*)

“My lady,” Gendry said as he approached the cloaked figure on the parapet.

Sansa turned and grinned at her sister’s… whatever he was. “My lord,” she said. “How can I help you?”

Gendry looked down at his feet. “My lady, I… um, I…”

Sansa sniggered. “Come on, out with it,” she said in a near laugh.

“My lady, l may have a king’s name,” Gendry said. “But I don’t have anything else, nothing.”

Sansa put her hand on his arm. “Arya doesn’t care, Gendry,” she said. “Nor does Jon or myself.”

Gendry smiled and nodded. “But I do.”

Sansa nodded to herself and rolled her eyes _Men!_ “Lord Baratheon,” she said. “We are in your debt. Whatever you need, just ask.”

Sansa watched as her tried to compose what he wanted to say. She shook her head, and then turned to look out across the snow covered fields and the gathering armies.

“I would ask for Arya’s hand.”

Sansa was momentarily stunned. Of all the things she was thinking he might ask, that was fairly far down the list. She turned slowly to him. “Would you?” she said, trying desperately to hide her mirth. “That’s more properly a question for the King.”

“Yes, I thought so too,” Gendry said. “But you are… um.”

“Less intimidating?” Sansa said, finally letting her giggles out. “Oh, Gendry, don’t worry. Jon and I suspected this would happen. I’m just surprised at the haste.”

“There’s a war.”

“There is,” Sansa agreed. She touched his arm, and he looked in her face. “Jon will give his blessing, don’t worry.” She saw him visibly relax.

“I still have nothing to offer, though,” he said.

“I’m certain Arya doesn’t see it that way,” Sansa told him. “She’s told you about the last three years?”

He nodded. “As much as I could stand.”

“I know. She hasn’t told us everything that happened,” Sansa said sadly. “Nor has Bran. I don’t think they ever will.”

Gendry saw the haunted look. “My lady?”

“We were all tested,” Sansa said. “Me by Joffrey, Littlefinger, and the Boltons, Bran by the children of the forest, and Arya… She lived as a slave for a while, a prisoner, a beggar, and she was hardened… in Braavos.”

Gendry nodded. “And wounded too.”

“What?” Sansa said turning to him.

“She didn’t tell you.” Gendry said.

“She said they tried to kill her, but she killed the one they sent,” Sansa told him.

“She did,” Gendry said. “But she didn’t get away unhurt.”

“How badly,” Sansa nearly whispered.

Gendry looked at her with the most serious expression she had ever seen on him. “We almost lost her.” She saw the shiver. He composed himself and smiled. “But we didn’t, and she healed.”

The depth of Gendry’s love poured off him, Sansa could feel it where she stood. The way he had shivered at the thought of Arya being hurt so badly, the way unshed tears hung in his eyes, told her everything. “Gendry, we will be happy to have you join our family, small as it is.”

(*)

“Lyanna is doing well,” Sansa said.

Arya smiled, finished chewing, and took a drink of ale. “She really is,” she said. “Yesterday we took up knife work, and Brienne was amazed at how fast she got some of the skills.”

“She’ll be as good as you are soon,” Sansa teased.

Arya laughed. “A few years,” she said. “But that’s the plan.”

Sansa smiled. “Father would be so proud of you,” she said. “And I am too.”

Arya looked at her sister with a serene expression. “Thank you,” she said. “I’ve always been proud to be your sister, even when I was angry with you. You were always so much better at everything than I was. Better writing, needle work, prettier…”

“I don’t know about that,” Sansa said. “I’m certain Lord Baratheon would disagree.” She watched Arya smile wistfully.

“He’s not exactly unbiased,” Arya said.

“I can’t tell you how happy that makes me,” Sansa said. “I’m sure of the answer, but you do love him?”

Arya took hold of her sister’s hand and look in her eyes. “So much, Sansa,” she said. “You know, it scares me sometimes how much.”

“Are you thinking of a future?” Sansa asked.

Arya nodded solemnly. “If there is one.”

_That’s all Jon and I needed to know_ Sansa thought. “I have something for you,” she said, and she placed a small vile of green liquid on the table.

“What’s that?” Arya asked.

Sansa looked away, out the window and into the distance. “A potion,” she said, and she was silent for a minute. Arya waited, knowing there was more. “When, when Ramsay took me… I didn’t want to bear his child. His maester’s wife hated Ramsay, and she gave me this. One drop a day, for the three days before your time, and you won’t catch.”

Arya’s eyes hardened. “I’m so sorry,” she said, and clasped her sisters hand in her own. “Every time I think about what he did…” She fumed and ground her teeth.

“He raped me… every night for what seem like an eternity,” Sansa said flatly. “But I survived, Arya. I’m stronger now.” She looked into her sisters eyes with a vengeful expression. “And he’s dog shit,” she spat.

Arya gripped her sister’s hand, and Sansa looked at her. “Maybe we’re more alike than you think.”

(*)

“Hello, Brienne,” A voice from behind her said, and she couldn’t help the broad smile that sprang to her face. Composing herself she turned. “Ser Jamie,” she said and took his true hand. “It’s good to see you.”

“You’ve done well,” Jamie said. “The Stark girls are alive and whole. I saw you working with Lady Stark and Lady Mormont yesterday. Arya Stark is astonishing, and Lyanna Mormont seems determined to best her.”

“They are dedicated,” Brienne said. “Teaching them is a pleasure, although truth to be told, I’m learning as much from Arya as she is from me.”

“She’s that good?”

Brienne smirked. “Why don’t you try her sometime?”

“That sounds like a very dangerous idea,” Jamie said with a smirk. “Given our families history.”

“You’re not the one she wants to kill,” Brienne said. “Just keep at least a thousand miles between her and your sister.”

Jamie snorted. “That shouldn’t be a problem,” he said. “I intend to do that same.”

Brienne’s eyebrows rose. “Why’s that?” she asked.

Jamie looked at her for a long time, not really seeing her. Brienne could see him lost in the memories. “Because I’m better away from her, clearer, not distracted, not manipulated… not tempted.”

Brienne smiled softly at him. Cersei was truly evil, she decided. To torture this wonderful, brave, and truly honorable knight, was something unforgivable. Maybe she would ride Arya down to King's Landing herself, she thought.

“Would you join me for dinner?” Jamie’s voice interrupted her musings. “They tell me we’re having roast pork.”

Brienne nodded with a grin. “I would be honored, Ser Jamie,” she said.

He smiled genuinely. “I’ll see you then.” he took her hand and impulsively kissed the back of it. “Lady Brienne,” he said, turned, and strode away toward the forge.

Brienne stood there in the courtyard staring at his retreating back and feeling the tingle on her hand until a laughter interrupted her musings. “Who’d have thought?” Sandor Clegane’s voice said from behind her.

“What do you mean?” She asked him as she turned.

“I’ve was watching,” he said. “Couldn’t hear, but didn’t need to. I’ve known Ser Jamie for a long time, and in all that time I’ve only seen him look at one other woman the way he looks at you.”

“Don’t mock me, Clegane,” Brienne said hotly.

His smile was kind. “I’m not mocking you, Brienne,” he said. “You think I don’t know what it’s been like for you? Look at me. There’s only ever been one woman looked at me the way he looks at you, the way you look at him, and my brother killed her.” she had never seen a man with such a look of sadness. He composed himself and smiled. “Come on, let’s get a drink. We deserve it.”

(*)

“So what is it that makes you love him so much?” Sansa asked as Arya finished her lunch, and she smiled at the wistful look on her sister’s face.

“He’s kind, and gentle,” she replied. “He’s smart, and loyal, and brave. He makes me laugh.” She sighed. “And he loves me for who I am.”

“I suppose it helps that he’s so handsome,” Sansa said teasingly.

“Just a pleasant bonus,” Arya said with a misty smile. “It doesn’t matter what he looks like, what he owns, his parentage, none of that matters.”

“No?”

“No,” Arya said.

“I wish I’d have learned that by your age,” Sansa said sullenly. “Joffrey was evil, Loras was a ponce, and Ramsay was worse than Joffrey if that’s possible.”

Arya nodded. Sansa was finally coming to understand what was important. “Sansa, what matters is that he cares, cares for me, and I care for him. Gendry wants me to be happy, and he’s done a lot on that.” Arya smiled. “Which reminds me. I have something I’d like you to give Lord Tyrion.” She stood from her chair and Sansa stood with her. Arya hugged her sister very hard and kissed her cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered in Sansa’s ear.

“What was that for?” Sansa asked.

Arya smiled in a way that made her sister’s eye widen. It was the smile of a grown woman remembering what made her that way. “Why don’t you ask him?” She said as she turned and walked toward the doors of the great hall, then she turned back. “Or, better yet,” she said, and she started to laugh. “Have him show you.” Her soft laughter faded as she walked from the great hall.

(*)

They were practicing with live steel, Brienne with her dulled training sword, and Arya with Needle. Toward the end of their training sessions Arya and Brienne would spar, and Lyanna would watch intently. The two women’s styles had been dramatically different when they had started the sessions, but now bits of Arya’s dance where finding their way into Brienne’s more forceful method, and Arya had learned how Brienne judged when to advance and retreat, when to duck, and when to charge.

The walls and balconies were filled with people. It had become the best entertainment they had had in a long time, and they cheered for their chosen champion. Arya had the whole of Winterfell and most of the Bear Islanders on her side, Brienne the Lannisters, the Knights of The Vale, and the Wildlings. 

And there were many that supported both.

Bruises were common, but neither had truly hurt the other. As Sansa watched, Arya parried a slash from Brienne and cartwheeled away. She ducked another slashing stroke and swept Needle out from behind her to swat at Brienne’s calves, but Brienne had learned by now. The larger woman twirled away from the attack with surprising grace, and then she brought her sword down on Needle to disarm her opponent, but Arya had learned too. She let Needle twist in her hand, and Brienne’s sword slid harmlessly down to the snow as Arya danced away from her.

“That’s how it’s done, Wolf Girl,” she heard Sandor Clegane’s voice yell.

Attack, parry, advance, retreat, back and forth they went, Brienne slashing and thrusting, Arya dancing. At last there was a final flurry and the two stood once again poised to deliver the killing blow at the same time. A huge cheer went up from the gathered onlookers and then applause. Arya sheathed Needle and hugged Brienne as they both caught their breath.

“Excellent work today,” Brienne said to Arya and Lyanna as the younger girl approached them. “You are doing very well, Lady Mormont, very well indeed.”

“Everyone my age and older will be trained when I return to Bear Island,” she said, and then she turned to address the audience. “I pray my knights are paying attention, all this must be taught to our kin when we return.”

“The north remembers!” they shouted and their Lady smiled.

_It does_ Arya thought to herself as she looked across the courtyard to Gendry. She nodded to him and he started toward her, a wrapped bundle in his arms. “Lady Mormont,” she said loudly so that all could hear, and Lyanna turned to her at the unexpected use of her title, Arya hardly ever called her “Lady”.

She smirked in her grim way. “Yes, Lady Stark?” she asked snidely.

Arya’s smile was broad and happy. “I have a gift from the Starks to our faithful friends and their lady.” Gendry unwrapped the bundle and held out a scabbarded light sword to the Lady of Bear Island. It was the first time Arya had ever seen Lyanna Mormont rendered speechless. Lyanna gaped in wonder as Arya helped her with the belt and Brienne showed her where it should rest against her side. Once properly secured, Lyanna drew the sword from its scabbard.

The pommel was a perfectly sculpted bear’s head made from brass, the cross guard silver with engravings of bears, ships, and trees. Three black shards of dragon glass were inset in a row down the central ridge, and “The North Remembers” in High Valyrian shown in Sansa’s fine script written in the fuller.

Lyanna’s eyes fill with tears, but she refused to let them fall. She held the sword over her head and cried, “The north remembers!”

“The north remembers!” Echoed from every voice.

“All the best swords have names,” Arya said quietly.

Lyanna looked at Needle, and then Oathkeeper as Brienne secured it back on her hip. She held her sword aloft again, and cried, “Bearclaw!”

(*)

“What the bloody hell?” Gendry asked gasping.

Arya swallowed and laughed. “Though I’d return the favor,” she said in the sultry voice only he heard. She reached over him and took her wine goblet from the table next to the bed. “Stopped by one of the pleasure houses and asked the ladies some questions.” she sipped her wine. “They were very happy to offer me some pointers.”

“That was… I never… whoa,” he said between breaths, and she giggled.

Arya set her goblet back on the table and laid on his chest. “You did so well with the sword,” she said. “Did you see? We almost made Lyanna cry.”

She felt him nod. “Yeah.” He rolled her onto her back and kissed his way down her body. “Your turn.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. And a King

And a King

Arya stood in the middle of the courtyard and smiled. The blindfold was really unnecessary, as she had her eyes closed anyway. She could hear them breathing quietly on the balconies and walls, she could hear the far off hoot of an owl in the grey mid-morning, she could feel the light breeze her attacker made on the hairs on her arm, she could smell the hint of pine in the soap Lyanna used in her hair, and she could hear the occasional stealthy footfall in the snow as the young woman circled her.

Lyanna had been in the courtyard waiting for her and Brienne every day they had trained, but in the week since Arya had given her Bearclaw, Lyanna had been with one of her knights when Brienne and Arya arrived. He was helping her get the feel of the blade, how to hold it with two hands for a killing trust, how to balance the weight of the sword with her small frame, and how to hold it when she danced like her mentor. Arya smiled with pride every time she looked at Lyanna. “A younger sister in all but blood,” she had told Sansa, and Sansa had agreed.

Arya had a four foot long switch in her hand. She’d tagged Lyanna with it several times in the last week, and none to gently, “Every hurt is a lesson,” Syrio had said. Lyanna understood it well, and she hadn’t once complained. This morning, though, Arya hadn’t got her yet, and she smiled again. Lyanna would be a shock to her house when she returned home. The snow crunched to her left.

“There!” Arya said as the rod of willow whistled through the air. It stopped pointing directly at Lyanna. She was just out of range, and there was a burst of whispers from the crowd that fell silent at a raised hand and a scowl from Brienne.

The brown haired girl flicked the end of the rod with her wooden knife. “But not there,” Lyanna replied. She crept back to her left, switched and moved right, and then stealthily forward. She was in range of the switch now. She moved slowly, hardly breathing lest even that slight sound give her away. She watched her feet, setting them in footprints rather than the fresh snow, and she saw Arya nod. She knew it was for her. _I can’t hear you_ is what that nod said. She moved closer still.

Arya could tell Lyanna was near, but if she struck out now, and was wrong, she opened herself up to a hit. There was the swish of a cloak, from her right, _could be her_ , then a crunch in the snow came from her left. She spun and swatted at Lyanna with the rod. Usually that was followed by a sharp, hissing intake of breath as her protégé absorbed the lesson. Arya contacted nothing. She shook her head and started to laugh when she heard  the swish of the cloak and the crunch of the snow behind her as a foot fell on it, and then she felt the wooden blade against her throat.

The crowd erupted, and Arya pulled off her blindfold. A small stone sat in the snow a few feet from her left foot, and she smiled broadly as she turned to Lyanna. “Excellent diversion. Well done!” she said and hugged her. 

(*)

“Good morning, Gendry,” Jon said as he entered the smithy.

“Your Grace,” Gendry replied, and then he began his daily report. “Arrow head teams are handing them out to the Lannister archers today. As you ordered, twenty each for a total of eight thousand. The lance tips for the Knights of the Vale are nearly done, as are the long spear points for the Lannisters and the Unsullied.”

Jon smiled at him. “That was brilliant of you, Gendry,” he said and watched the younger man shrug at the praise.

“Just thought we’d want them as far from the living as possible,” Gendry said plainly. “When the wildling women started knapping for us…”

He didn’t need to finish. Almost immediately the wildling women had shown an incredible aptitude for shaping the dragon glass. Their long history of working flint and other stones into finely made tools had proven a priceless boon. They could draw from a single fist sized nodule two spear tips and dozens of arrow points. Then Gendry had had a few bursts of inspiration himself.

Working with the archers, he had devised a mount for the glass shards. A standard metal point would be split, the gap widened to hold a shard, and then the gap would be gently pinched closed around the shard to hold it in place. The long spear tip was a bit more complex. Gendry had created a clamp that would secure the dragon glass point against the steel point of the spear, doubling their effectiveness.

Knives, axes and swords were determined an extravagance they couldn’t afford the time or material for, and so only a few had been made. Gendry had instructed his assistants to pass out leftover scraps of the glass as they distributed the arrow points, and for them to show the soldiers how to mount them in short stout shafts. These would become a kind of one handed short spear for close combat, if it came to it.

“The Lannister smiths have helped a lot,” Gendry told Jon. “We should have all the spear points finished and ready when the Unsullied arrive.”

“You may have saved us all, Lord Baratheon,” Jon said. “Come, walk with me.” Jon led Gendry from the smithy, under the covered bridge, and into the Godswood.  Bran had yet to take his place by the tree and so they had the garden to themselves. “Lady Sansa tells me you wish to speak with me on a matter of great importance.”

“I do, Your Grace,” Gendry said.

Jon watched him try to compose his thoughts. “Go on,” He prompted.

“Has Lady Sansa told you what I want to talk to you about?” Gendry asked.

“No,” Jon said with a smirk. “But I can guess.”

“I’m in love with your sister,” Gendry stated plainly, and then felt the need to clarify. “Arya.”

“That’s been obvious since our arrival,” Jon said, and he clapped Gendry on the shoulder. “I approve, but you’ve been told that.”

“It’s good to hear it from you, Your Grace,” Gendry told him. “I would like to ask for her hand.”

Jon sniggered. “It’s not mine to give, Lord Baratheon,” he said. “It’s hers, and if I tried to force her to marry anyone, even you…” he trailed off chuckling and shook his head.

Gendry chuckled himself. “True,” he said. “But I’m supposed to ask you first.” He looked at Jon. “Right?”

“If Arya were a normal girl, yes,” Jon said. “However, she’s not a normal girl, she never has been.”

“No, she isn’t,” Gendry said, and Jon saw a smile that only a few had ever seen.

“Arya has never accepted her place, and I don’t expect she ever will. I’m certainly not going to try to make her do anything she doesn’t want to. She could be a valuable game piece, but I would… I could never use her like that. Marry her off to some prince or lord she never knew because it would secure a political advantage?” he smirked, chuckled, and shook his head. “Everybody involved would be dead in a day. Ask her whenever you please, Gendry,” Jon told him. “You have The King’s blessing. Does that satisfy you?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Gendry said.

“Good,” Jon said. “And you’re going to have to learn to call me Jon when were in private if you’re to be my brother by marriage.”

(*)

Arya approached the figure sitting next to the tree. “You’ve come to ask about Cersei,” Bran said from the chair.

“Yes,” she replied. “And a few others.”

(*)

Jon watched his sister and brother at the tree. Bran spoke, she listened, and when he was done she bent and hugged him. He knew the walls of Winterfell could never hold her for long, and the time for action was approaching faster than any of them would like. Arya would be a major player in the war, no matter what her older brother wished, and he was debating how to speak to her about what he thought she should do. He knew he couldn’t command her to do anything, the gods knew their father had tried, but he could ask.

She found him leaning against the wall near the gate to the Godswood. “He’s different now,” Jon said as she approached.

“We all are,” Arya said astutely.

Jon snorted. “You’re not.”

She looked at him skeptically. “You have no idea…”

“I do,” he said. “Arya, you’re more skilled now, but you were on that road before King’s Landing. You’ve killed. We all have. You have been beaten, hurt, badly Sansa tells me, and you can do that… face thing, but you are still the girl I gave Needle to. I see you in there, and that makes me happy.”

“A lot happened, more than you know,” she said.

“Same over here,” he said. “But that doesn’t change who we are. Sansa grew and learned too, you’ve seen that, but she’s still her, and you’re still you.”

“Am I?”

He smiled. “Yes,” he said. “I’ve watched, talked with Sansa and Gendry, listened to Lyanna Mormont tell me how wonderful you are…”

“But they don’t know, Jon,” she said. She nodded to herself, she could tell him. “When I was in Braavos, studying to be a faceless man, part of the training is… emptying yourself of yourself. Learning how to be someone else. It’s part of how the magic works.”

“But that didn’t work on you, Arya my dear, gentle, sweet sister,” he said and snickered. “Did it?”

She shrugged. He had a point. “Not very well, no,’ she said.

“I’m happy it didn’t,” he said and huffed. “Now, what do you intend to do when we march.”

“Finish what I started,” she replied plainly.

“I can’t stop you,” he said. “But the Unsullied arrive tomorrow with Queen Daenerys, and you should meet her. I’d like you to wait to leave until we march. Can you do that?”

She nodded.

“You’re going for Cersei?”

Her expression didn’t change at all as she looked at him. All she did was blink.

“Please don’t make too big of a mess.”

(*)

They were eating dinner when word came. “The wall has fallen at Eastwatch! The dead march!”

(*)

Arya was in their room, packing her travel kit, when Gendry returned from the council meeting. “You’re going south.” He said, looking at the satchel on the bed.

“You’re going north.” She replied as she embraced him. “I have something for you.” She walked across the room, and pulled a drape from a figure near the wall, revealing a suit of armor arrayed on its stand. “Fathers, I asked Sansa and Jon if I could give it to you.”

Gendry ran his fingers over the breastplates and shoulders. “I’ll try not to get it damaged,” he said.

“Let it get damaged,” she said. “Just don’t let yourself get damaged.”

“You do the same,” he said seriously. “I know it’s futile, but I can’t convince you not to go, can I?”

“No.”

He shrugged and nodded. “Had to try.”

She smiled. “I love you,” she said. “I have a good reason to live.”

“Arya,” Gendry started. “I want to ask you something. I wanted to do it somewhere special, perfect, but now…”

“Yes,” she said. “But not right now.” She smiled at his puzzled look. “Keep a secret from me?” her look was amused and skeptical. “You should know better.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I suppose I should,” he said and drew her into an embrace. “Not yet?”

“No.” she said against his chest. “We have things to do, you and I, things we have to do before we get married.”

“But we will, after all this is over, we will,” he said into her hair.

He felt her nod. “Yes, my prince,” she said.

His heart swelled. They had started calling each other “my prince” and “my princess” as a joke. It wasn’t a joke anymore. He turned her face to him, kissing her with all the fire in his heart, trying to convey just how in love with her he was.

(*)

Arya held Gendry’s hand next to her chest and he slept. His warm weigh behind her a reassurance she would miss in the coming months. They were parting again, not tomorrow, but very soon. In the morning they would bid goodbye to her new sister, sending Lyanna back to Bear Island under the protection of just a few of her knights. Even though Arya had fought to send Brienne, Lyanna had flatly refused. “My knights and I are more than able to pass through the Wolfswood and sail for home,” she had said in her annoyingly confident voice. “The dead are coming from the east, and we are riding west. We’ll be on Bear Island before you meet them in battle.”  Arya smiled at the memory, by the gods she loved that girl.

Brienne and Sansa, with a small company of knights from The Vale, would lead the people of Winterfell and Wintertown south, along the Kingsroad, gathering those they could. If they made it far enough they would turn and make for the Vale. The Bloody Gate their last defense against the dead if the armies of the living failed. 

But Arya would be far from them by then. She would go south to the Crossroads Inn, a quick visit with Hot Pie, and then on to King’s Landing and a date with destiny.

Gendry hugged her in his sleep. _My prince, oh my brave, loyal, handsome prince,_ she thought. _Wear father’s armor proudly, and wear it well. Bring it back to Winterfell and our home. I want you in it on our wedding day._

Wedding day. That was a phrase she had never consider being associated with her, but now it would happen, if the gods smiled. She would say the old words, she would swear by the old and new gods, and so would he. Sansa would be put out because Arya would not be having a large wedding. Gendry would have Ser Davos by his side, and she would have Brienne. Sansa and Jon would witness, and Maester Wolkin would officiate.  

She would be his lady, bear his children, teach them to be strong, and he, what would Gendry do? She wondered.

He was heir to the Baratheon name and all that came with it, but they had talked and he wanted none of it. “I’d give it all to Ser Davos if they’d let me,” he’d told her one night as they huddled in her bed. “All I want is right here, what we have right now.”

It was more than enough for her too, but she wasn’t stupid. The world would demand of them. Arya smirked at the thought, _let them demand all they like._  When she returned from the south she would marry Gendry, and they would travel. She wanted to show him Braavos, she wanted to show him Bear Island, she wanted to see Dorn, and she wanted to just be free in the world for a while.

But first there were still three names. Three names between her and silence. Three names that haunted her. Three names on the list. She looked across the room at her satchel with her faces and Needle resting atop it. She clutched Gendry’s hand to her chest again. She hadn’t had to say the words since they had started sleeping together, but tonight she found she couldn’t sleep, and she knew why. She drew a calming breath and started to pray to her prey.

“Cersei, Ser Ilyn, Gregor Clegane, Cersei, Ser Ilyn, Gregor Clegane, Cersei…”


	5. And a Queen

And a Queen

“Remember, running and hiding saved us both a hundred times, Lyanna,” Arya said indicating Brienne and herself. “It’s not weak, it’s smart.”

Lyanna nodded grimly.

Arya hugged her “I still wish you’d allow Brienne to accompany you,” she said. “It’s a lawless, unsettled wilderness out there just now, and I don’t like how few of you there are.”

“Brienne is needed elsewhere,” Lyanna said. “The dead are coming from the east, and we are riding west.”

Seven Knights of Bear Island sat on their horses waiting for their lady while she bade goodbye to her friends. The outer yard was a hubbub of activity as people frantically gathered what they could take with them and packed the waiting wagons. Arya, Sansa, and Brienne each hugged their friend in turn, and then Brienne helped to her saddle. The armor Lyanna wore had been made for Rob in his youth. It had been passed to Jon, and then Bran. Rickon had never got the chance to wear it. 

Brienne’s eyes locked with Ser Fergis, Lyanna’s most trusted knight. “Ride with haste, ride quite, go unobserved,” she said. He nodded. “Stay off the road if you can, no inns, no way houses, and small fires.”

“We should be at the harbor in three days,” Ser Fergis said. “Bear Island a day and half after that.” He turned to Lyanna. “We will be riding hard, My Lady, and we’ll be living rough. My apologies for what’s to come.”

Arya took Lyanna’s hand. “If the Bay of Ice freezes, flee south,” she said. “The Night King can turn anything, horses, wolves, giants… and bears. Jon fought one.”

Lyanna shook her head. “Our words… I couldn’t leave…”

Arya squeezed the Lady of Bear Island’s hand hard.  “You will run, Lyanna,” Arya said in a firm voice. “You will gather your people and you will run like you have never run before, and you will sail south, do you understand?”

Lyanna looked at her and nodded.

“What do we say to the god of death?” Arya asked.

Lyanna smirked. “Not today.”

“Just so,” Arya said, and she smiled. “Because you, my apprentice, have a great deal still to learn, and I intend to teach it to you.”

Ser Fergis smiled with pride as he looked at his lady and her friends. Brienne of Tarth, the indomitable woman knight, Lady Arya Stark, the warrior princess, Sansa Stark, the iron willed leader, and his Lady of Bear island, rapidly becoming a lethal force herself. Another in the long line of warrior women of Bear Island was being birthed, Lyanna’s mother would be pleased, and so was he. After all it was entirely possible Lyanna was his daughter.

Brienne laid her hand on the hilt of Bearclaw. “If you find the need to use this,” she began. “Remember what you have learned, it will serve you.”

Lyanna sat tall in her saddle. “I will,” she said, and then she looked at her friends and bowed her head slightly. “My ladies.”

Both Arya and Brienne smiled, stepped back next to Sansa, and then did something neither had done in years. They curtsied. “My lady,” they all said together.

(*)

“My lord,” Arya said as she crossed the dining hall for the soldiers and servants and approached one of the tables.

“I’m not a lord,” Sandor Clegane informed her.

“I’m not a lady,” she said as she sat. “They still insist on calling me one though.”

He sniggered. “What do need, Wolf Girl?”

“I need you to do something for me,” she said seriously. “I need you to bring yourself, Gendry, and Jon back alive.” 

“Can’t promise that,” he said flatly.

“Sandor,” she said roughly. “Swear to me you’ll bring the three of you back.” He saw her clench her teeth. “Swear it to me!”

The intensity in her eyes was familiar, yet different. There was a spark there, a spark he only saw we she had talked about her family, but now it had a new color. He’d seen her anger at dead relatives, this was the fire she glowed with in defense of living ones. He nodded.

“I’ll make certain the King and your prince make it back,” he said. “That suit you?”

“Not good enough,” she answered. “You have to come back too.”

He chuckled. “Do I?”

“Yes,” she said, and when he looked in her eyes he saw just how deeply she cared for him. “We need you.” She laid her hand on his. “I need you.”

He smiled softly. “Alright, I’ll do my best not to get myself killed.”

“Thank you,” she said. “Because I think you’d make a fine captain in the King’s Guard. The ones Sansa has now are terrible.” _And I want you and Brienne with Gendry and me when we go exploring,_ she thought.

He laughed. “Done and done, girl,” he said, and then he turned serious. “And you make a bargain with me, Wolf Girl. You don’t get yourself killed either.”

“I’ll do what I can,” she said plainly.

He nodded in understanding. “Don’t get within ten feet of my brother.”

She looked down at the Cat’s Paw on her hip. “I might,” she said and looked back up into his eyes. “Once.”

He looked at her and nodded. “If you do, tell him I said hello.”

(*)

The dragons were enormous. Arya could not keep the grin from her face as Queen Daenerys approached, and then she noticed the way that Jon and the Queen gazed at each other. The slight smile, the hint of a blush on her face, and the fact that once they locked eyes they had nothing for anyone else told her everything **.** She looked over at her sister and they exchanged knowing smiles. _Well, well, well,_ Arya thought to herself. _And it’s mutual!_

After introductions the Queen and her beautiful advisor approached her and Gendry, and the Queen got directly to the point. “Lord Baratheon.” She said. “How much do you know of our family’s history?’

“Only what everyone knows, Your Grace,” Gendry replied. “Didn’t even know he was my father until a few years ago.”

“You are his only heir, I’m informed,” she said. “Do you have any desire to rule?”

“No!” he said in horror, and the Queen laughed.

“You find the prospect that unappealing?” she said, smiling. “Not even Storm’s End?”

“I don’t want any of it, Your Grace,” he said. “Give Storm’s End to whoever you want.”

“And if I were to choose you?” she asked.

He sighed. “Then I would do my best, Your Grace,” he answered. “But I don’t desire it.”

Queen Daenerys smiled at him. “A quality that often leads to the best rulers,” she said. “Consider it.” She looked down at Arya’s hand clasped in his. “Maybe for a wedding present.”

(*)

The moon shown down on the deserted courtyard. 

Missandei and the Queen watch Arya dance in the moonlight. “She is as astounding as we were told,” Missandei whispered to Daenerys. “Do you think she could succeed?”

Daenerys nodded. “I do,” she said quietly. “Jon hinted she has a special talent beyond even this.”

Missandei smiled. “It would be interested to see her spar with Grey Worm.”

“It would,” The Queen agreed. “She is a kindred to us, yes?”

“Yes, definitely,” Missandei said. “Do you have plans for her?”

“She has her own plans,” Daenerys said. “I’m deciding what to say to her, if anything.”

“You seem to always know the right thing to say, Your Grace,” Missandei told her.

Daenerys turned to her and smiled. “I wish I knew what to say to Jon,” she said.

“Did any of what the Three Eyed Raven told you matter before he told it to you?” Missandei asked.

Daenerys shook her head. “No, we didn’t know…”

Missandei smiled. “And does what you now know change how you feel about him?” she asked.

Daenerys shook her head. “No, it just makes it more complicated.”

Her friend snickered. “How unlike the rest of your life that is, Khaleesi.”

Daenerys smiled at her friend and advisor. “Very amusing,” she said.

“I thought so,” Missandei said. “Oh.” Daenerys followed her gaze and saw the young lord Baratheon enter the nearly empty courtyard.

“Thought I’d find you here,” he said as he drew Arya into an embrace and kissed her. “Council meeting’s over. We leave in the morning.”

Arya sheathed needle and hugged him again. “I hate it, I hate you having to go out there.”

“I’m not all that happy about you going south.”

She looked up into his eyes. “We have tonight,” she said.

He nodded. “Aye, we do.”

(*)

Sansa head a crash of falling furniture from the other side of the door as she passed Arya’s chambers. She was reaching for the handle when she heard something else. It sounded like they were fighting at first, and then it became very apparent what was happening in the room beyond the door.

She heard, “Oh gods, Gendry. Yes!” from her sister.

She heard muffled laughter, then, “and again,” from Gendry.

Then she heard Arya cry out in an inarticulate moaning half scream.

Sansa backed away from the door and took several deep breaths. She could still hear the commotion, but it was far less stimulating. She hadn’t thought about what the reality of her sister relationship with Gendry was, now she knew first hand. Sansa had pictured a sensual, graceful, delicate, and gentle practice. She leaned back against the wall as another crash accompanied by muffled wail came from beyond the door, and she chuckled. Gentle? Arya? She laughed quietly.

The Lady of Winterfell turned and walked toward her own chambers, still chuckling. _Tyrion is going to weep with laughter_ she thought to herself.

(*)

They stood in the outer yard, arms around each other, looking into each other’s face, saving the moment in their memories. Hundreds of people were there, but it had become eerily silent. Most, like Sansa and Tyrion, had stopped to watch the two lovers say goodbye. It didn’t matter. For Arya and Gendry it was only them.

It had been frenzied, angry, fervent, and desperate last night. Each had made the other shout in ecstasy, each had wept, and each had made the promise.

“I love you, my prince,” Arya said, and she kissed him with unreserved passion.

“I love you, my princess,” Gendry replied. He brushed his hand down the side of he face, and the words they had promised each other in the throes of passion rose to his lips again. “Come back to me,” He said, and kissed her again before mounting his horse.

“Come back to me,” she said, and he nodded.

For Arya and Gendry there was nothing more.

Sandor Clegane and Arya locked eyes for a moment, a silent understanding passing between them. “Come on, young prince,” he said, and Gendry looked at him. “Let’s go send those ugly fuckers back to hell.”

Sansa watched as Arya stared at Gendry’s back disappearing into the morning mist. “They’ll write a song about that,” she muttered.

“My Lady,” Tyrion said with mirth from her side. “They will write a hundred songs about that.”

Sansa smiled. She’d been writing Arya’s story herself since Jon and Gendry had arrived in Winterfell. The more she had learned of her sisters adventures, the more she wanted to preserve the story. Gendry had letters, she was sure, but he wasn’t eloquent enough to properly do justice to the tale, and Sansa was certain her sister hadn’t written a single line. She found it hilarious that Arya, being a girl who hated all the frilly stories of fair princesses and their handsome princes, was living one. The warrior princess and her handsome, commonly raised, prince, it was a tale to rival Jone Keel and her idiot knight. Now Arya and Gendry had presented her with an impossibly romantic scene in taking their leave. She hoped sincerely that there was a coming reunion, and that she’d be there to see it.

Arya turned and walked back into the castle, a look of purpose on her face.

“Where is she going, I wonder?” Tyrion said.

“I’m not certain,” Sansa said _should she tell him?_ “She hasn’t told me.” _Not a lie._ She looked down at him. “I can’t convince you to come with us on our march south?”

“We’ll be using Winterfell as our main encampment,” he said. “As Hand of the Queen. I have to stay.”

She looked at him and realized she didn’t see him as a dwarf anymore, or an imp, or anything other than what he was. She saw him as a man, short yes, but a man. She smirked to herself _and really quite a handsome one_ she thought. They had talked a great deal since his arrival, trading tales of adventures, laughing, comforting each other as they described some of the less happy moments, and growing close.

  _It doesn’t matter what he looks like, what he owns, his parentage, none of that matters,_ Arya’s voice said in her head.

“No, it doesn’t,” she said quietly to herself. 

“What?” he asked.

She smiled and cupped his cheek. “Don’t get yourself killed, Tyrion,” she said. “I’d miss our talks.”

(*)

“Lady Stark,” Queen Daenerys said.

Arya turned to face her. “Your Grace,” she answered. “What brings you to the Godswood?” She had been dancing between the trees, practicing with Needle and reviewing what she would teach Lyanna when they next met.

The Queen smiled. “You.”

Arya’s expression was guileless and curios. “How can I help you, Your Grace?”

 “I was watching,” Queen Daenerys said. “Jon was right, you’re very very good.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Arya said honestly. 

“Jon has told me a few other things,” the Queen continued. “He’s indicated that you are not going south with your sister and people, but rather on a mission of your own.”

Arya nodded.

“May I ask what that mission is?”

Arya had been watching the Queen and her brother intently. Her innate mistrust of people in power made her wary of the Queen, and she wanted to asses for herself the motives of the beautiful, enigmatic woman. She had noticed that, on her arrival, Jon had been quite enamored of Daenerys and she him. Last night at dinner though they had been much more formal with each other. The light touches she had seen Daenerys lay on Jon’s arm were gone, and they addressed each other more officially, but the looks they gave to one and other were the same. There was a fire there that could not be covered. 

“There are people that I need to…” she began, and then she stopped. “It’s actually best you don’t know.”

The Queen smiled. “Good. You are correct, we have a truce. I can’t know anything, however the King in the North, your younger brother, and I had a rather revealing conversation yesterday. Very revealing…” she trailed off and looked at the sky.

Arya nodded to herself. Bran had told them something huge, and they were still coming to grips with whatever that was. “Your Grace?” she prompted.

Daenerys came back to herself and chuckled. “One of the many things we learned from your brother was what the nature of your quest might be,” she said. “You don’t need to say anything, just listen.”

“Alright,” Arya replied.

“As I said, we have a truce. I cannot sanction anything, I cannot approve,” the Queen said. “However, we are in fact fighting two wars, one with the living, and one with the dead. Of the two, the war with the dead is far more important, but I don’t trust Cersei to keep her word.”

“I wouldn’t either.”

Daenerys smiled. “Jon did say you were the smartest one in your family,” she said, and then her demeanor became regal. “Lady Stark… Princess Arya, if you complete the mission that your brother told us you would undertake, you will end one of those wars, and you will have my unending gratitude.”

Arya smiled. “I’d settle for a ride on one of your dragons,” she said.

Daenerys chuckled. “They are not ‘mine’, they are theirs,” she said “But I’m certain we could arrange something.”

(*)

There was a knock at her door. “Yes?” Arya called.

“It’s me,” Sansa’s voice said. “May I come in?”

“Yes,” Arya answered.

Sansa entered her room and closed the door. “I wanted to say goodbye before you left,” she said.

“I wasn’t going to just vanish,” Arya said, and Sansa gave her an extremely skeptical look. “Well, alright, maybe I was, but I’m awful at goodbyes.”

Sansa nodded and crossed the room to gather Arya in an embrace. “I’ve only just got you back, and now I’m losing you again,” she said near tears. She felt Arya nod against her. “Don’t disappoint Gendry!” she commanded. “Or me.” She felt Arya nod again, and she heard a sniff. “I love you, Arya. I don’t think I’ve said it enough.”

Arya drew back and smiled at her sister through a mist of unshed tears. “I love you too. I don’t think I’ve ever said it.”

Sansa laughed wetly and hugged her again. “Keep your promise,” she said. “Come back.” She felt her sister nod once more.

(*)

She was gone.

When Sansa had come to Arya’s rooms the next morning she had found her sisters room empty, her travelling gear missing. At the stables the large white mare Arya had arrived on was absent too. Sansa allowed herself a few moments to let the tears fall, and then she composed herself. Arya was the most lethal assassin they could wish for, unstoppable, fearless, skilled, and nearly invisible. Cersei was doomed, and Sansa smirked at the thought. The bitch deserved it, all of it and more, she thought to herself. Arya was right to pin the blame for her family’s losses on Cersei, and Cersei also bore the blame for the evil little shit she had birthed first. Sansa had attempted to find some pity, some bit of compassion for the Queen in King’s Landing, but all she had come up with was ambivalence. 

Now she looked to her left where Brienne sat on her horse waiting for the command. Behind them was a small company of knights, a long train of wagons and people, and a rear guard of a few more knights. Sansa straightened herself and turned to address those nearest to her. “My Lords and Ladies, to the Vale.”

 

 

 

**_Thanks for all the kind words everyone. I just started this because it was interfering with another story I’m writing, and I had to get it out of the way._ **

**_And_ **

**_Happy ending?_ **

**_This is Game of Thrones, folks._ **

****

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

And a legacy

 

“Welcome to the Horn Hill and Hall of Heroes, My Lady. I am you guide, Tyrion Tarly.”

“Are you related to the great Grand Maester Samwell Tarly?”

“I am, My Lady. He is my third great grandfather.”

“He was an amazing man, so learned, so masterful with is words.”

“It is a point of pride for the family that every child hears the Great Poem by the time they are ten.”

“Attend now, all, this tale of bravery, valor, and betrayal. For all the years, and all the centuries should never dim our people’s memories.”

“Can you recite all four hundred lines?”

“Of course.”

“How wonderful. Many can, but the way you spoke the first stanza tells me much. Are you a student of your family’s history then?”

“Yes. Though Lord Gendry was a bastard in birth, he was Baratheon to his core, and Lady Arya was…”

“What Lady Baratheon was has filled many books. Maester Orlyth wrote an entire book based on the fifth stanza. ‘And Princess Arya from her hip the Valyrian Blade drew. And in the Red Keep, with dagger in hand, the false Queen she slew.’ Here, in the first display, we have the armor and sword of Lady Arya’s protector and friend, Brienne of Tarth. The armor, given to her by the Ser Jamie Lannister, still holds the scars from the battle at King’s Landing, the Battle for the Dawn. The armor and her sword, Oathkeeper, also given by Jamie Lannister, is on permeant loan from the Tarth family, as all or displays are.”

“I’m aware, as you know the reason I’m here is to hold the shards of Needle.”

“As every female descendant of Lady Baratheon has done for almost two hundred years. It is our honor to keep them safe for you, My Lady.”

“We are honored to be her daughters, and we are bound by our blood to continue her work.”

“What work would that be?”

_To be certain we are able as any man to do battle._ “A point of pride in our family.”

“I see. The next display is…”

“Ser Sandor Clegane… The Hound of Westeros.”

“Ser Clegane’s un-named sword and King’s Guard armor were retired upon his stepping down from his post at age eighty. They stand here a testament to one of the bravest men to ever live.”

“And the Hound of Westeros, his fear overcome. Alit the fire that saved the undone. For the Night King had won the day, and all King’s Landing in his army’s hands lay.”

“You fifth great aunt, Sansa Lannister, wrote that part well.”

“She did. ‘The Night King’s army now inhabited King’s landing. As Princess Arya, Lady Brienne, Podrick Payne, Sandor Clegane, and Ser Jamie Lannister fought their way from the city toward the high ground upon which the Night King’s generals directed their army, Ser Jamie told them of the Wildfire caches that the Mad King had placed under the city, and of his and King Jon’s plans to destroy the Army of the Dead with them. At The Gate of the Gods Ser Sandor Clegane took the torch from Ser Jamie’s hand, and he bade goodbye to his friends, believing he would die that day. 

Into the catacombs beneath the city he went. Ser Clegane never spoke of those dark minutes under the city, but one can guess the horrors he faced. He prevailed, and he found the cache for Flea Bottom and set it alight. The explosion from the wildfire propelled Ser Clegane entirely out of the city. He was found battered and singed, but alive in the snow and mud of a piggery outside the city walls.’”

“You have read much.”

“Another trait encouraged in the Baratheon family.”

“Forgive my mirth, My Lady. Here the arms and armor of Ser Jamie Lannister. He wielded two swords during the Battle. One, his un-named battle sword, and the other the Valyrian Steel sword, Widows Wail.”

“I understand they found it where he fell, and they thought to bury him with it.”

“But Princess Arya would not hear of it. As you know in his hands, and in the hands of Theon Greyjoy, it saved her life, and that gave her the time to help Good King Jon kill the Night King, according all accounts.”

“There were a quite a few witnesses. Samwell Tarly being one.”

“He was. Here his armor and Heartsbane stand. The sword, appropriated without leave from his father, saved many in his hands.”

“You’ve inherited his poetic nature.”

“A point of pride in our family.”

“And his sense of humor also.”

“My thanks, My Lady. Here the arms and armor of Ser Jorah Mormont.”

“Another truly great knight. ‘And Ser Jorah Mormont took up his dragon glass sword, and woe befell the Night King’s dead hoard. For Ser Jorah was a knight brave and true, and there on the Dead Hill, Viserion the Mighty he slew.”

“And there stands the sword that felled the ice dragon. Next Bearclaw and the armor given Lady Lyanna Mormont by the Stark family.”

“And Lyanna Mormont, the sword Bearclaw in hand, led the vanguard of the children from her land. With cries of war they laid waste to their foe, and joined the Dawn’s Army as the battle did grow.”

“Well said.”

“So this is Bearclaw. May I hold her?”

“Of course, My Lady.”

“The balance is wonderful, so light in the hand.”

“The Smith Lord was a craftsman of exceptional skill. I’m told by the male Baratheons that come to visit that they are required to make their own sword when they come of age.”

“They are. My brother will forge his in a few months.”

“But the ladies all come to hold Needle.”

“Our fathers forge a sword much like Needle for us on out eleventh birthday.”

“I assume it’s waiting for you in the carriage.”

“Only because you don’t allow them in here.”

“For obvious reasons.”

“Yes, I suppose this room holds more priceless objects than any other.”

“For many, yes, it does.”

“Thank you for allowing me to hold her.”

“Lady Lyanna was a force, and she was a great friend to the Smith Lord and his Lady. Most of you have asked to hold Bearclaw.”

“I know who this is.”

“The armor and axe of Lord Tyrion Lannister, my namesake, and the Great Hand.”

“The Great Hand.”

“There has never been another like him.”

“My cousin, Teryl Lannister, apparently resembles him quite a lot. He’d probably fit in the armor too.”

“I have yet to meet Lord Teryl, but I do look forward to it. A dwarf born to the Lannister family is a sign of great luck and good fortune for the entire kingdom.”

“Teryl is much like the Great Hand, we are told. A lover of books and learning, he is bound for Old Town and the Citadel. We all think he’ll be a Grand Maester one day.”

“A worthy goal, I hope one day to attain it myself. The arms and armor of Lady Yara Greyjoy.”

“Giving up privateering for honest shipping of goods has made the Iron Islands richer than piracy ever did. Yara the Good. She followed Good Queen Daenerys’s desire, and that made all the difference.”

“Her brother’s armor and sword.”

“Theon the penitent.”

“Theon the penitent.”

“May I?”

“All of you do.”

“Theon Greyjoy, I lay my hand on the hilt of your sword and tell you once again you are forgiven. We thank you for your sacrifice on the Hill of the Dead, and I bid you peace.”

“Princess Arya and Lady Sansa spoke those words first, I’m told.”

“They did. Theon surrendered his own life to save Princess Arya, and all of us really. He truly belongs here in the Hall. ‘The Iron Ships, balls of fire threw, while Lady Greyjoy and her brother to the battle flew. For Yara and Theon could not stand and wait while the Dawns army was driven to the sea there at the mud gate. With fire and fury they met the hoard, and on the Hill of the Dead Theon Greyjoy met the Night King’s sword.’”

“Here the arms and armor of Ser Davos Seaworth.”

“The Onion Knight. ‘Theon Greyjoy, Ser Davos, and King Jon the Hill of the Dead did mount, and there faced the Night King and his walkers round about. Theon and Ser Davos held the king’s back as King Jon faced the night, and the Heralds of the Dawn rushed to the hill to join in that final fight.’ Ha, Heralds of the Dawn. I wonder how they reacted the first time they heard themselves referred to that way?”

“Grand Maester Tarly didn’t say. Here the arms and armor of Greyworm, First General of the Armies of the Dawn.”

“And Geryworm of the Unsullied, his fellows led. To battle with spears of dragon glass, the army of the dead. Many too many fell as they drove the dead through the King’s Gate, and then they stood in awe as King’s Landing met its fate.”

“The song of Grey worm and Missande is as well-known as the song of The Smith Prince and his Warrior Princess.”

“As it should be.”

“Here the war hammer and armor of your fifth great grandfather, Gendry Baratheon, The Smith Lord.”

“’And then Lord Gendry the Smith strode into the fray, with his war hammer, Soulsinger, walkers he did slay. The Night’s Watch and Wildlings held the Smith’s back, and with the cry ‘for Arya!’ he led their attack.’”

“There were a few that wanted Lord Gendry and Lady Arya to take the throne, Lady Sansa wrote.”

“We are told there were many factions that thought their lord should sit in that uncomfortable hunk of metal, but all of those lords, to a man, and girl in Lyanna Mormont’s instance, chose King Jon and Queen Daenerys.”

“It is said that Lord Gendry had to be required by the King and Queen to take up the lordship of Storm’s End. I see by your smile that story this is true.”

“It is. Lord Gendry and Lady Arya wanted nothing more than to return to Winterfell, but the King and Queen insisted, rather forcefully, that Lord Gendry take Storm’s End. Lady Arya fought hardest of all. She believed that a Stark should be in residence at Winterfell. Luckily, there was one.”

“The Three Eyed Raven, Brandon Stark.”

“Yes, Maester Tarly. The Ravens are unique, and they usually don’t marry, but Brandon Stark, as you know, chose to marry Lady Meera Reed and continue the Stark line. We owe him, we owe him a lot for saving a great house and name. He, and Lady Reed.”

“And here what you came for, the arms and armor of Princess Arya Stark, Lady Arya Baratheon, heroine of the Dead Hill.”

“I have been to New Town and the Dead Hill.”

“As have all the Maesters of Horn Hill, My Lady. It’s a strange place, isn’t it? All round it are homes, fields, and stockyards, but the hill itself is barren, silent.”

“The Baratheons believe the remains of the wights and the walkers along with the Night King himself have poisoned the hill, or perhaps cursed it. It’s always oddly quiet there, they told me, even so close to New Town.”

“But to stand on the hill where it happened, that is a special moment.”

“For the battle was lost and the people filled with fear. As the dawn was driven to the shore, and the Night King, and his walkers upon the Hill of the Dead, did appear. Astride Viserion the Mighty, the Night King flew, and with the dragons freezing fire many brave knights he slew. But hold, now Good King Jon comes to the hill, with Ser Davos, and Theon Greyjoy the Night King to kill.”

“Beautifully spoken, please continue.”

“And now comes Ser Jorah, Dragon Glass in hand, Before Good King Jon, his guard to stand. And Queen Daenerys astride Drogon, the Dead’s Doom, dove upon the Knight King and forced him from the sky of gloom. There, on the Hill of the Dead, Ser Jorah lays Version low, and all around hope in Dawns army did grow, for now comes the Night King to stand and face King Jon, while Theon, Ser Jorah, and Ser Davos hold the walkers from their thrawn. But behold to the Dead Hill now come the Heralds of the Dawn, The Smith Lord, his Princess, Ser Jamie and Lady Brienne walkers they set upon. And now come the children of Bear Island, Lady Lyanna at their head, to take the leeward side from the army of the dead.

And now a sound of fury and fire rends the air as The Hound of Westeros Lays King’s Landing bare. His army charred with wildfire the Night King turned to his foe, while the Heralds of the Dawn , fresh with hope, mounted the hill from below. Blades of ice and steel clashed in the dark, and then the Night King’s sword found its unholy mark. Through King Jon’s leg the Night King’s blade passed, and on the Hill of the Dead King Jon believed he breathed his last. But Ser Jamie Lannister, A knight brave and true, took off the Night King’s sword arm as a walker ran him through.

Taking up Widows Wail, Ser Jamie’s sword, Theon Greyjoy advances upon the hill to attack the Ice Lord. But a Walker, Princes Arya’s sword Needle had shattered, and so Theon chose the only course that mattered. With cry ‘For Yara’ he takes the walkers head. And then, run through himself, he falls to breathe his last upon the Hill of the Dead.

And now Princess Arya and Lord Gendry to King Jon have come, and then the Night King turned to find himself undone. For King Jon with Long Claw ran the Night King threw, and once again Princess Arya, the Valerian Dagger from her hip she drew. In throws of rage, pain, and death the Night king did find Princess Arya thrown upon his back by Lady Brianne from behind. And with Dagger in hand upon the Hill of the Dead, Princess Arya swung and took the Night King’s head.”

“And so the battle was won.”

“Yes, Maester Tarly, but at great cost.”

“Jamie Lannister died in the arms of Brienne of Tarth, Ser Davos struck down by a walker, Theon Greyjoy’s last words were heard by Good King Jon, Podrick Payne, Ser Jorah, and so many thousands of others. But now here we stand, and here you are.”

“Here I am.”

 “My Lady, the shards of Needle.”

“Grandmother, Lady, Princess, warrior, slave, No One, I, Marya, Keeper of the Faces, come here on my seventeenth name day to honor you, and to make the pledge. I will guard the secret, I will master the sword, I will hold my honor dear and my family dearer, and I will never betray your memory. This I swear, on the shards of Needle, and on my sacred honor to the old gods and the new.

“I have heard those words many times before. The Baratheon Ladies say it as you did, The Lannister, Stark, and Targaryen women all have a different version.”

“Yes.”

“Lastly we have the Arms and armor of Good King Jon and Good Queen Daenerys.”

“They say Queen Tallysia resembles Queen Daenerys, she is very beautiful.”

“Queen Daenerys’ beauty was legendary, but her kindness and honor out shown even that. She kept her word to all the freed slaves, she and King Jon. It took time, decades, to fully end slavery, but they did, and it changed the world.”

“That and the code.”

“The Knights code. Yes, my lady, King Jon’s brilliance is seldom praised. He is criticized for his near failure at the Battle of the Bastards, but fate was on his side there. He was gainsaid at the time about his plan for the defeat of the Night King on the eve of the Battle for the Dawn, but he was right, and the light prevailed. But holding tournaments, and then pairing knights from different houses to keep the peace and order in lands other than their own, brought the whole of Westeros and the world together.”

“It did. Thank you, Maester Tarly for your time and patience.”

“It is our pleasure. Here at Horn Hill we revel in or history, we guard the truth of it, and we record it honestly as it passes. You, My Lady, are in our books already.”

“I hope I didn’t disappoint.”

“I don’t believe, Lady Marya Baratheon, that you could ever disappoint.”

“Only myself it seems.”

“No one is immune from self-doubt, my Lady, but I believe, from my reading about you, that you are a true daughter of Lady Arya. The chronicles say that you took a boar with your bow at age eight, a stag at a hundred yards at age ten, and you and your elder brother drove a band of outlaws from a village in the reach just last year. Those are just a sample from your pages.”

“Maester Tarly, let me leave you with some words of wisdom from Lady Arya, famous words in our house. ‘Adventures are awful while you’re having them.’”

“Thank you for the laughter, My Lady.”

“You are very welcome, Maester Tarly. I hope we meet again.”

“As do I. Where are you bound from here?”

“To continue my training.”

“And where would that be?”

“I am first daughter of the seventh first daughter, Maester Tarly. I am bound for Braavos.”

 

 

 

 

**I don’t know if any of this will come to pass, but we’ll see.**

**And now I bow and leave the stage.**


End file.
